


Somnum Exterreri

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Body Worship, Castiel is Protective of Dean Winchester, Light Bondage, M/M, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), actually more like exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: "You are well aware that this will not hold me—""I know. But you're going to let it, aren't you, Cas?"Castiel had willingly placed himself at Dean's mercy, and Dean intends to take full advantage.





	Somnum Exterreri

Angels are sensitive. They can taste every single molecule of food they eat, smell disease from a body with a single sniff. When Castiel had been injured by an angel blade — aggressively slashed up across his stomach and ribs, even through the layers of his clothes — a few hours earlier, Dean had insisted on cleaning the wound in hopes that it would speed up the angel’s delayed healing process and reduce the alarming amount of blood soaking into Castiel’s clothes. He had discovered that Castiel is _very_ reactive to his touch; needless to say, Dean’s curiosity had stirred quite eagerly at the discovery.

Now, after settling the worry that had been gnawing at his insides — ever since Castiel had been wounded — with the confirmation that the angel is perfectly healed, Dean’s eyes wander under the pretense of checking for the nonexistent cut. Castiel appears to be lithe and slender under his ill fitting black suit and huge beige trench coat, but Dean finds that under all his layers, Castiel is actually broad and solid and _strong,_ thick with much more muscle mass than the deceptively delicate look he sports.

Castiel had willingly placed himself at Dean's mercy, and Dean intends to take full advantage.

_Dean nudges Castiel until he is lying down on the hotel bed, gently slipping Castiel's loose tie from around his neck._

_Slowly, clearly telegraphing his intentions, Dean guides Castiel's unresisting arms above his head, anchors them to the headboard of the bed with Castiel's own tie. There is no knot. It's just a loose and flimsy bow, one that would fall apart easily with the barest hint of pressure, the silky blue fabric resting gentle and bright against the light underside of Castiel's wrists._

_“You are well aware that this will not hold me —” _

_“I know,” Dean replies. A sly smirk stretches his lips — despite the words that carried a pointed warning, Castiel does not move a single muscle, content to lie still for Dean. “But you're going to let it, aren't you, Cas?” _

Perching on the very edge of the motel bed, Dean carefully avoids any contact with Castiel, who is spread out on the sheets with all his clothes from the waist up hanging open around him like a seductively inviting opening scene of a porno. Who is miles upon miles of warm tanned skin over gloriously firm swells of muscle. Who is an ethereal wild storm contained in a human like form, all endless power and unstoppable strength, voluntarily docile and yielding and _bound._ Dean tries his hardest not to think about the way he himself had been sprawled all over the same sheets just a few hours ago; albeit his reason was much more innocent — sleep.

Castiel shifts restlessly — a sly and embarrassingly effective (on Dean’s part) move to capture Dean’s attention — with his arms held obediently together, arching his back in one smooth sensual stretch when he’s sure that Dean’s eyes are on him. And Dean’s hypnotized, unable to tear his gaze away, nearly drooling at the sight of Castiel’s muscles shifting and tensing under his skin. Pink lips parting with a soft sigh that sounded pleased and a tad smug to Dean’s ears, Castiel relaxes out of his stretch, languidly lounging on the bed with the grace and ease of a deadly predator that knew exactly where it stood on the food chain. Never mind the little detail that this predator was essentially wearing a collar — with his wrists tethered like they were — no one could ever hope to keep a tiger restrained with a mere leash around its neck unless it permits such a thing.

Tearing his eyes away and blinking hard, Dean turns his back. Despite his ability to boldly and shamelessly let his eyes roam all over any women that met his rather lenient requirements — he wouldn’t exactly call them requirements, more… _preferences_ — for a one night stand, Dean feels nearly guilty eyeing up Castiel. Movement out of the corner of his eye instantly grabs the attention of the seasoned hunter in Dean; it turns out to be only Castiel idly flexing his wrists where he has them pressed together, his arms and shoulders tensing and relaxing in turn.

Dean studies the blue tie looped around Castiel’s wrists, remembering the sensation of silky fabric and soft delicate skin against his fingertips. Arousal stirs, coiling hot and heavy, but so does confusion. Since when did Dean Winchester act so forward with his undeniable attraction towards Castiel? But then he looks into fathomless blue eyes, as bottomless and mysterious as an ocean Dean has never seen, and all his doubts and concerns vanish as quickly as they had appeared.

Bare chest rising and falling evenly with his calm breaths, Castiel stares steadily back at Dean. _Touch me,_ his eyes seem to demand, and what could Dean do? He couldn’t say no, not when he’d been wanting this for so long. _Needing._

So Dean climbs onto the motel bed, balancing on one knee as he swings his other leg over both of Castiel’s. Neither of them break eye contact as Dean _slowly_ lowers himself down to straddle Castiel’s thighs and raises a tentative hand to curve against Castiel’s cheek, the light stubble there tickling his palm. Castiel doesn’t react when Dean slides the hand down to curl strong fingers around his neck, absurdly tranquil sapphire meeting Dean’s emerald without a single hint of alarm. And Dean finds himself unable to resist; he tightens his grip, just enough to see the tip of his nails go from pink to white with the pressure. Dean doesn’t know if he’s testing Castiel or himself — Castiel is ridiculously indifferent with Dean’s hand squeezing his throat, heart beating a strong and steady rhythm under Dean’s fingertips, while Dean’s own traitorous heart is picking up speed in his chest.

In a desperate attempt to calm himself, Dean forces his fingers away from Castiel’s warm skin, leaning back and settling his hands on his thighs. Castiel tilts his head on the pillow, peering up at Dean with concern.

“Huh,” Dean says, pausing to clear his throat when his voice breaks, “so cleaning it does make it heal faster.” He absentmindedly drags his fingertips across Castiel’s firm stomach, tracing the path that an angel blade had once forcefully carved into the now intact flesh. “See, Cas? Doesn’t hurt to listen to the human once in a while, hm?”

“...I suppose.”

Now that he’s started, Dean can’t seem to stop. Not that he’s particularly pleased with the idea of removing his hands from Castiel. Dean runs his fingers up the center of Castiel’s chest, internally fighting against the urge to follow the trail with his tongue. He continues, hoping the continuous movement of his hands would restrain him from bending over and pressing his lips to tanned skin. As Dean moves down Castiel’s sides, one of his fingers slip, nail scratching lightly across the skin near Castiel’s hipbone.

For the first time, there is a reaction: Castiel’s mouth falls open on a sharp exhale.

Dean pauses, eyebrows scooting upward just the slightest bit. “Oh.” Deliberately, he adds a little pressure with his nails when he crosses Castiel’s ribs. “You like that,” Dean murmurs in wonder. He feels like he’d just struck gold. “Don’t you, Cas?”

Castiel blinks, slow and deliberate. “Yes…” He sounds bewildered. Like he hadn’t expected himself to have such a reaction.

And Dean draws no small amount of fascination and delight from the way Castiel’s pupils dilate before his eyes, deep ocean blue receding to thin bright rings around black. Pleased to have made such a discovery, Dean scrapes his blunt nails up Castiel’s sides, and is rewarded with a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like a purr.

As loud as a gunshot, the sound of thick glass fracturing echoed through the room. Startled, Dean turns his head toward the origin of the noise. The single window across the room, through the gap between the two dense blackout curtains, is sporting a fresh fissure in the center. As Dean watches, eyes round with shock, spiderwebs advance — spreading fast as lightning — across the window with nearly the same distinct crackling as ice, only much louder and higher pitched.

_Something isn’t right._

Mouth open, Dean gapes down at Castiel, who gawks back with wide eyes and equal alarm. Dean has his gun in his hand — his thumb instinctively flipping the safety off — and pointing at the window before his mind even processes the situation. Glancing around the room in hopes of locating the threat, Dean spots a lamp sitting on the bedside cabinet next to the bed. The bulb is intact. _Wait —_

Lowering his gun, Dean turns back to the bed. Horror replaces his shock. _Who are you?_

A key turns in the lock. Before the door could open, there is a sharp rustle of feathers and a fully dressed Castiel appears just in front of it. All over the room, things shatter: the cracked window blows outward in clear jagged shards, the ceiling lights explode, the lightbulb of the lamp drops onto the cabinet in tiny pieces, the unopened bottle of beer on the kitchen table bursts. Beer spills over the edge of the table and onto the floor — Dean has all of half a second to mourn the loss of a perfectly good beer. Then Sam bursts into the room, slamming the door behind him and peering anxiously around Castiel at Dean.

“Oh,” Sam exhales abruptly, like the breath had been forced from his lungs.

“Dean,” Castiel growls from where he's standing in front of Sam, eyes glowing faintly.

Instantly, Dean shoves himself off the bed, stumbling back on wobbly legs and raising his gun.

The “Castiel” he’d been with this whole time, had never once uttered his name.


End file.
